This might be best categorized as an experimental poem. A very raw impromptu work with very little editing and forethought. These thoughts are more like a journal entry, as they simply came to mind while listening to the Christmas song O Holy Night.
He left it behind: a Christmas Psalm
He left behind…His eternal paradise, for the impermanence of time,
And the light of his glory,
Was sacrificed upon entering humanity’s dark story.
He left it behind…he left it all behind.
He left behind…His heavenly riches, for searing poverty,
His kingdom, to be born out of the ordinary.
He was not surrounded by hordes of angelic beings,
But by simple shepherds, and three peasant kings.
He left behind…The Triune love he shared, for the emptiness of human despair;
And the Father’s right hand, to be the son of man,
His divinity, so he could clothe himself in the decaying flesh of humanity;
And the warmth of the Father’s eternal light,
To be embraced by a manger and a bitter cold night.
He left behind…Divine Truth, so that he could be called a liar,
He surrendered his flawless beauty, to undergo unbearable brutality
By sacrificing his life for an ungrateful humanity.
He left it behind…He left it all behind
He left behind…Life so he could die
But not as though he were a king.
No…he died alone.
Away, like a peasant – like a wanderer in a foreign land.
But, then he rose;
From the lowest place he rose;
From the darkest depths of the earth to the highest climes of the brightest skies;
From the poverty of humanity;
To the riches of eternal glory;
He ascended to the highest place;
Back to the Father’s right hand;
Among the countless angels, his praises they sing.
Where he sits upon a throne fit for a king.